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  “Jim never admitted guilt and Slam claimed innocence, in spite of both of their toxicology reports coming back positive.”

  “True. Jim has never talked about it, and Slam is still claiming he never knowingly took any steroids or enhancers.”

  “So what does that mean, that someone fed them to him without his knowledge?”

  Ty lifted his shoulder. “He’s not the first to claim such a thing.”

  True enough, but the thought of a trainer or someone doing such a thing without a player’s permission was galling.

  “Ask me what you really want to know, Holly.”

  “Could it happen? Honestly?”

  “Honestly? In a billion-dollar sport, where more than just bank accounts are on the line? When it’s also reputations and traditions and egos? Anything could happen.”

  “I’ve read that something like one out of ten professional athletes use steroids or stimulants.”

  “Right, but that’s all sports combined—wrestling, football, track and field . . . Look,” he said. “Athletes, both professional and amateur, have an incredible amount of pressure put on them to perform, and perform well. Add to that the fact that there’s a limited amount of time for them to do their best work and gain success before ego or injury sets in. So if there’s a shortcut to that success, someone’s always going to be willing to take it.”

  “Even if it’s risking their career.”

  “But,” he said, “you have to take into account that historically speaking, it’s only been recently that enhancers and the like have come into play as the bad guy.”

  “So what are you saying? That it’s okay for the public and the industry to put this kind of pressure on the athletes, that it’s okay for the athletes to respond by using drugs to enhance their bodies and performances?”

  “Actually,” he said calmly, “I’m just saying you can’t believe everything you read.”

  “One out of ten . . .” she murmured, brain whirling. “That would mean that statistically speaking, at least two members of the Heat are using.”

  At that, some of the affection and amusement went out of his eyes. “It doesn’t work like that, Holly.”

  “No?”

  He sighed, set down his beer, and stood up, pulling some cash from his wallet and dropping it on the bar.

  “Well.” She sighed. “I’ve certainly got the knack of pissing people off tonight.”

  “We’ve got an early flight, that’s all. Time to hit the sack.”

  When he was gone, she stood up, too. And ran smack into Gage.

  “Where are you off to?” he asked. As tall and built as his players, he could be charming as hell when he chose. Though he was smiling, this wasn’t one of those times. His eyes were troubled.

  “As Ty just pointed out to me,” she said, “we have an early flight. I’m going to bed.”

  “Alone?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He appeared to wrestle with himself, then grimaced and muttered, “What the hell,” before swiping a hand down his face and meeting her gaze once again. “Let me walk you to your room.”

  “Are you coming onto me, Gage?”

  “What?” He looked so horrified she almost felt sorry for him. “No!”

  “Okay, that leaves babysitting. I don’t need babysitting.”

  “Just tell me that you’re not going to Pace’s room.”

  “Oh, for the love of God.” She tried a deep, calming breath, but it didn’t work. “You know what, Gage, I don’t even know where to start with you. But I’m thinking of wrapping my fingers around your neck and squeezing. Fair warning.”

  “Warning taken.”

  “And I’m not sleeping with your precious pitcher.”

  “Okay. If you could keep it that way . . . ?”

  “Oh my God.” She stared at him, slowly shaking her head. “You know what? All of you are—”

  “Crazy. I know.” He gently took a hold of her arm when she turned away. “Listen, I’m sorry. But honestly, given the sparks coming off of you two, I’m afraid if you . . . investigate that, then—”

  “What? You’ll lose? In case you haven’t noticed, that’s what you’ve been doing anyway.”

  “It’s not for me. It’s everyone else. They’re unbelievably superstitious, and now we’re facing Pace’s injury and possible surgery—”

  “Surgery?”

  “—and all that bad press, it’s just blown out of proportion.”

  “Surgery?” she repeated so that Gage finally shut up and just looked at her.

  “He didn’t tell you. Fuck.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, listen, this is between you and him. Just . . . just don’t go try to talk to him tonight—”

  “Oh, I’m going.” She pointed a finger at him. “But I can promise you this: there will be no sleeping involved.”

  “Uh . . .” Gage was clearly trying to evaluate her intention. “If you could not kill him, that would be really great, too.”

  “Now there’s a promise I can’t make.” She headed to the elevators and pounded the button for Pace’s floor. Possible surgery. Which meant he’d probably torn that rotator cuff. How ironic that the press had been claiming that very thing for weeks.

  Of course he hadn’t mentioned how bad it was earlier, which left her to wonder if that was because he didn’t trust her not to put it out to the public, or because he didn’t want her sympathy.

  Or maybe it was far simpler than that. Maybe he just didn’t care enough about her to bring it up.

  No. No, she refused to believe that, and got onto the elevator. The man who’d kissed her tonight hadn’t been a man who didn’t care. Which left her to believe something else. He’d picked a fight so she’d go away and leave him to his own misery. Yeah. It was entirely likely that he’d do exactly that rather than talk to her about his fears and pain. “Damn idiot.”

  The man with her in the elevator shot her a startled look.

  “Not you,” she said quickly. “I—”

  He hit the button for the next floor and got off as quickly as possible, without a backward look.

  With a sigh, she leaned back against the wall. Yeah, she certainly had a way with men tonight.

  When the elevator opened on Pace’s floor, she went straight to his room and knocked. But either she was wrong and he’d gone off for his own fun for the night, or she was right and he was ignoring her, because he didn’t answer.

  And she slept alone, granting Gage his wish.

  The Heat flew home, and Holly’s next article came out. This time she’d written about the pitfalls of the sport, the number one thing being injuries—the ugly side of an industry that required so much from a person’s body. She’d blamed the owners, trainers, and managers for pushing the players. She’d blamed the players for caving to the pressure and not knowing their own limits well enough to back off when necessary.

  Up until now, the articles had been extremely popular with her readers and the industry. But today, the industry wasn’t sending the love; they were sending hate mail.

  Tommy was in heaven, loving the increase of traffic to the site, negative or otherwise. “That’s what you’re there for, doll. To air the laundry and stir things up.”

  And to raise his ad rates.

  “But I still need a secret,” he reminded her. “The readers keep asking for the big one.”

  “Maybe there isn’t one this time.”

  “There’s always a secret. Now go find it.”

  Sure. She’d just go find it.

  The next day, she still hadn’t heard any news from Pace, or about Pace, and she wondered what the final outcome on his shoulder injury was. She wondered how he was.

  If he was doing okay . . .

  Going stir-crazy, she grabbed her camera and headed to the Heat’s facilities. She told herself that she needed some pictures of the team, but if she ran into Pace, so much the better. They had a few things to discuss.

  Okay, maybe it was just her. She had a few thing